Love is supposed to feel bigger than the room it lives in. But right now, this room feels too small for both of us.
CHAPTER 2
CLUTCH - KEEP YOUR HOUSE TIGHT
The party wasn’t planned; it was supposed to be a closed-door meeting that escalated as it has lately. Church was called by Angel. It was supposed to be just the tight inner circle. No outside noise.
Blood Reapers were seen three counties south last week. Not passing through, staying. Two of their prospects were spotted near a gas stop just inside our territory, and they were asking questions they shouldn’t have been asking. Which has everyone on edge because Preacher doesn’t drift. He hunts.
We shut down a northbound run yesterday because of it. That costs money and patience. Men like us don’t like standing down when they’re wired to move.
So the meeting bled into drinks. Drinks bled into music and music bled into the club girls calling friends. Now the clubhouse feels like it’s vibrating from the inside out. Bass rattles the rafters, as smoke hangs under the lights. Denim and leather move in waves across the main floor.
I lean against the bar, nursing something I’m not really drinking, and watch the room. This place feels alive to me. It’s not pretty or soft… fuck it’s not even clean. But to me it is everything, I grew into a man in this place… it's ingrained into me.
Angel stands near the head table, speaking low with Ledger. To look at his posture you would think he is calm. But I know beneath that controlled presence everything that has been going wrong lately.
Razor’s across the room, arm draped around Mara like he owns the air she breathes. He doesn’t and Angel would be the first one to tell him that, but he likes people to think he does.
Mara is our club president’s sister; some would call her the club princess.
She laughs at something Razor says, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I’ve noticed that lately, the tightness around her mouth. The way she scans rooms like she’s mapping exits.
Razor’s fingers dig into her hip just a little too firm. I clock it as Razor being possessive, then scan the room again.
Four’s posted near the back wall, arms folded across his wide chest, watching the crowd without looking like he is. His ol’ lady, Dani, sits beside him on the couch, legs tucked under her, boots kicked off, hand resting comfortably on his thigh.
That’s loyalty. I envy how they are so solid.
Four doesn’t touch any other women. Doesn’t look twice at anyone who isn’t Dani. That’s the difference between a man and a boy in this life.
Razor’s eyes drift, but not to the girls grinding near the speakers.
I watch as his eyes land on the hallway. Why do I feel like he is looking forher?
Bex isn’t here, she’s on shift. One of her night rotations.
I check my phone without meaning to. Nothing.
It’s probably a good thing she is working, she hates nights like this. Says it makes the compound feel feral, like a frat house on steroids.
I don’t see it that way. This place is ours. We built it, protected it… so many have bled for it. This is our home.
She sees the noise and the girls. The aftermath of a hard day celebrated.
I see perimeter checks and rotation shifts. I see the way Angel keeps two prospects sober at all times when tension’s high.
Especially right now. Blood Reapers don’t respect lines, Preacher especially. The fucker preaches purity and practices cruelty.
We’ve crossed paths once before. Didn’t like the way he looked at the girls near the back table, like livestock.
Angel doesn’t tolerate predators inside these gates.
Outside? That’s a different story and that’s what’s got everyone wound tight.
Someone cranks the music louder. A cheer erupts near the bar, as a bottle smashes against concrete and rowdy laughter follows.
Mara shifts under Razor’s arm and he tightens his grip, then whispers something against her ear that has her stiffening.